<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>You shouldn't be here, but I'm happy you are by orphan_account</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27407950">You shouldn't be here, but I'm happy you are</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Political RPF - US 21st c.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Enemies to Lovers, FUCK, Happy Ending, Help, I wrote this in the middle of the night, IM SORRRY, M/M, i cant, i have sinned, im so ashames, im sorry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:57:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27407950</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuck.</p><p>This couldn’t be happening.</p><p>Joe has won the presidential election, and has come to the clubs to celebrate. He expects a night of happiness and fun. What he doesn't expect is his defeated rival to be there.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe Biden &amp; Donald Trump, Joe Biden/Donald Trump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You shouldn't be here, but I'm happy you are</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi, I wrote this in the middle of the night, in 40 minutes. I am so sorry to every single on of you who will read this, I hope you like it. :)</p><p>   -     I know it may be obvious, but this fanfiction is completely fiction.     -</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fuck.</p><p>This couldn’t be happening.</p><p>Joe felt a wave of nausea wash over him as his eyes took in the sight of his nemesis: Donald fucking Trump. His egregious snarl accentuated his obnoxious facial features, the deep crevasses that are his wrinkles cracking through the tangerine-tinted skin as his face contorted into something monstrous.</p><p>The expensive-looking suit obviously custom made for Trump shrouded his meaty physique. God, why did he have to be so tall? Even with the thick layer of fat widening Trump’s stature, he still managed to tower over Joe, his double chin on full display whenever they came close to greet each other.</p><p>But why? Why was the man who was his enemy, his obstacle, here, of all places he could be? </p><p>Please, Joe begged, he didn’t care who at this point, as long as they listened, Let him not notice me. Let him walk through the crowd without seeing me, let him, let him.</p><p>Sweat dripped down from his scalp and down his neck, the numerous drops crawling through his collar then to his back. The red, yellow, green, purple LED lights moved rapidly onto his body, continuously swishing from right to left, forward to back as the disco ball above twirled joyfully. </p><p>The wasted crowd danced around him, completely oblivious to his rigid form. The man who was dancing as if his life was on it nowhere to be seen. He could see two buff SP walking half a step behind Trump, their dark sunglasses reflecting the dreadful party lights. </p><p>They were out of place, Joe thought. </p><p>What was exactly Trump doing there, on the VIP floor of a club, famously known to support the LGBTQI+ community? He hadn’t realised he had been dazedly staring upwards at the loft where the man stood, until one of the SP twisted his head down to the dance floor, right where Joe was.</p><p>No, no no no no.</p><p>He knew he had to move, escape before Trump saw him. Who knew what would happen if he did? Joe was tired of all the drama and conflict between them, with the media picking up every nit picky detail and exaggerating, even broadcasting fake news to their hearts’ content. Although society viewed them as arch enemies, as the childish old men who fought and bickered every time they met, truth was, most of the fire had been ignited by the media, the news outlets themselves.</p><p>Sure, they had different political views. Joe had never agreed with Trump’s stance, and most likely, never will. The same could be said for the other man. </p><p>But there was something about Trump that always irked Joe’s attention. The debate, the speeches, the conferences, whenever he was on the television, whenever he talked about his actions, Trump would sometimes take a slight step back, too small for anyone to think as significant, and whenever he did, darkness flashed his sapphire blue eyes. </p><p>At first, Joe thought it was a coincidence. But he quickly realised, the behaviour, or the habit one could call it, was consistent throughout Trump’s speeches, especially when he was talking about gay marriage, something Joe supported, and Trump did not. Joe never thought too much about it, heck, he only just remembered now in his urgent situation. </p><p>Gay marriage was what bought him to the club in the first place. This morning, he had just won the presidential election, only by 20 electoral votes; to celebrate, he had come to the most famous LGBTQI+ supporting club in Los Angeles. The people screamed and yelled when he first arrived, drunk people coming up and hugging him, shaking his hand, some even going as far as to kissing him on the cheek. It felt weird, and unnatural, not having any security intervening in his reaction with the crowd, but Joe still enjoyed it very much.</p><p>Albeit, the brains of drunk people never go too far. They soon forgot the presence of the soon-to-be-president, each and every one of them becoming too preoccupied in their own celebration, leading to now. </p><p>Joe could see the SP tapping Trump’s shoulder, whispering closely into his ear, proceeding to point where Joe stood. </p><p>The overwhelming sense of dread, the furiously beating heart, the shaking of his hands.</p><p>This was it. </p><p>But for some reason, Trump didn’t glare at him, or yell at him. Instead, the end of his eyes drooped as they became full with a sweetness Joe had never seen before. Trump’s thin lips perked upwards at the sight of Joe, painting an eerie picture.</p><p>Why was Donald Trump smiling at him, with so much kindness, love, and sweetness?</p><p>Why? Why?</p><p>He didn’t have time to process his emotions, or to calm down his heart, because Trump had started to trot down the stairs, disregarding the VIP No Entry sign that blocked off the dance floor to the staircase.</p><p>His stature came closer and closer, and Joe could see the plump man wiggling through the wet, sloppy bodies that blocked the path, the pathway to where he was. Trump was like a bull charging to the goal, not realising, caring about the dozen people he knocked over, nor the thick, alcoholic drinks spilt of him during the clashes. He was obviously drunk.</p><p>Trump didn’t stop, even when he was right in front of Joe, eventually clashing into his body. Trump clung onto him like a baby monkey, refusing to let go even when Joe tried to pry him off.</p><p>Trump was mumbling, eyes drooped beyond recognition. “Thank you. Joe. For winning. For beating me. I didn’t want to do it, and you stopped me. You stopped me from hurting all these people, from hurting me.”</p><p>“Donald, what are you talking about?”</p><p>“I-I’m gay, Joe. I’ve been hiding it all this time.” Endless droplets of tears were rolling down his devastated face.</p><p>“HOLY SHIT IT’S FUCKING TRUMP” A voice screamed from afar.</p><p>Joe didn’t want any problems tonight, he had just won the status of president, and now that Trump had confessed to him, Joe definitely did not want Trump to face any hate any more.</p><p>So, he did the most rational thing to do, and grabbed onto the red, blue and white necktie wrapped around Trump’s neck and pulled hard.</p><p>The clash of their teeth sounded in his skull, the pain searing, but it was worth it, Joe just knew. The crowd was going crazy. There was yelling, screaming roaring, fuck, a few were even howling with absolute joy at the sight of their kiss.</p><p>They slowly pulled their heads back, and the hard, hot panting between them drowned into the crowd’s blaring and thunderous noises, and into the continuation of the celebrative night.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>